


Lost in Time

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Big Sister Alex Danvers, Established Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, F/F, Gen, Hurt Kara Danvers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Maggie Sawyer, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23773264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: And there is something off about her, something the detective can’t quite place, but the thought is pushed to the back of her mind because although it is very worrisome that there is a six year old in a shipping container, alone in the dark, it is not as nearly as disconcerting as what she’s wearing.The poor kid is practically swimming in an adult version of Supergirl's uniform.It sags around her small shoulders and trembling, thin fingers peek out from beneath bunched dark blue fabric, digging up into the collar of her outfit as she holds it to her chest, red boots rising up to her thighs like waders, and the billowing cape dwarfs her as it gathers on the floor in twisted folds.It’s a rather realistic replica of the one the detective’s seen so many times in person, but the fact that this kid is wearing it really only offers more questions than answers.....Maggie and Davidson get called into an unusual scene....An attempt at a de-aging fic
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, Kara Danvers & Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 289





	Lost in Time

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at a de-aging fic, always thought that idea was pretty cool.

“So how are you and Stephanie doing? She handling having your last name tacked onto hers?”

Maggie asks Davidson under the soft, yellow illuminance of the streetlights and waning moon.

The tall redhead smiles bashfully, eyes crinkling around the edges as he leans back against the hood of their police cruiser and gazes into the night.

“I’ll have you know that Davidson is a very good name to have tacked on to someone else's.” he grins, anchoring his hands on the crutches of his utility belt, almost in awe like he can’t quite believe it either. “But seriously, it’s… honestly, it’s amazing. I mean I’m still surprised she even said yes.”

Maggie nods looking up into the starry abyss her partner’s gaze is lost in. Third shift had its benefits on clear nights like these, it was a rarity to see the stars like this in National City, and though it was a far cry from Blue Springs, there was no way in hell she was going back there to marvel at the glittering sky only visible on the outskirts of this rumbling metropolis.

The outer edges of National City are quiet tonight, they usually are in the early morning hours, hitting the sweet spot where it’s just a bit too late for the clubbers and a smidge too early for those ridiculous early morning surfers. Yet still, it somehow unnerved Maggie, how quiet the perpetually loud city could be at its edges.

“Honestly, _I’m_ still surprised she said yes.”

The detective teases, echoing him and Davidson elbows her good naturedly, catching her on the shoulder as his hulking size dwarfs the detective’s ‘five-two on a good day’ stature.

“No, but seriously I’m happy for you guys! I’ve never seen you look happier.”

Davidson smiles again and his ears redden, blending into the burnt orange of his curls that twist around them.

“Yeah…” he murmurs trailing off, then turns to look at her mischievously, “How about you and Alex? I’m getting invited to that wedding right? It’s only fair you know, since you came to mine and all.”

The detective’s own ears redden and she can feel the heat rushing to her face as Davidson pokes fun at her, because honestly, what can she say. Things with Alex are great, amazing even, and sometimes she wakes up thinking how lucky she could be, to feel like this, to be a part of something like this, and Maggie doesn’t even consider herself to be a sappy romantic kind of person.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll revoke the restraining order long enough to let you in the door.”

The small brunette jokes and it earns her another elbow to the shoulder as they lapse into a comfortable silence once more.

She’d never really considered herself to be a third shift kind of person, but once a week she usually scraped together the ability to be a night owl out here with Davidson, patrolling an area where next to nothing happened, and it was a saving grace that she had her partner out here with her.

“You know…” Davidson starts, breaking the silence as he looks down at his shoes. “Do you think back and wonder if we knew how crazy our lives would be? I mean I live in a city with a real, verifiable superhero, I’m married to the love of my life, they brought back the triple stacker McRib, and I get to do badass cop stuff with my badass partner. It’s wild isn’t, it?”

“One of those doesn't belong to the rest, Davidson.”

Maggie snorts, instead of directly answering, because oh, if only he knew the truth, but when she begins to echo her own affirmation, the detective is cut off by the whine of their police radio.

“01-10 at National City Portside. Any available units please respond.”

The mechanical voice of a responder cranks out from the small device into the air.

A lost kid? At a quarter past three in the morning? On the Portside?

There are a million things wrong with that picture.

She and Davidson look at each other, nodding, and push off from the hood of the police car.

“Unit 052 to command, we’re enroute to respond.”

Davidson mutters into the radio, rounding the side to the passenger’s side, as Maggie starts the engine.

So much for a quiet night.

… …

Cool saltwater and a tangy fish smell attack Maggie’s senses, sharp and ripe with the cresting waves of the Pacific against the wooden poles beneath them as the police cruiser slows to a stop.

There’s a scrawny, lanky security guard that looks fresh out of highschool waiting for them at the entrance, but he doesn’t make a move toward them, relief fluttering over his nervous waif-like features, shifting from side to side on his feet, as he waits for the duo to come close. Maggie pulls the key out of the ignition, silencing the reddish-blue police sirens, though their lights still whirl colorly shadows against the rusting, multi-colored shipping containers that rise up like towers around them.

“I’m Officer Oscar Davidson and this here is Detective Maggie Sawyer. You called us in? About a kid?”

Davidson starts, taking the lead as they walk up, and the detective takes an opportunity to survey the area. The lot for the most part is empty. Aside from their squad car, she only sees the Portside Security golf cart, and two other passenger vehicles which she assumes belong to the guards currently on night shift, but nothing else in the concrete wasteland. And she wouldn’t put it past someone just abandoning their kid here, having had experience with shitty parents herself.

“Uh… yeah… Sorry to call you in so late but… yeah… found this little kid out on the docks. She won’t come near us, but… I don’t know, it’s weird… So the boss told me to call the cops.”

The wispy blonde, Connor, according to his name placard, stumbles over his words in an effort to explain, turning back toward the shipping containers, gesturing them to follow.

“Weird? Weird how?”

Maggie asks as they step off of concrete onto oakwood platforming, weaving deeper into the maze of shipping containers.

“I don’t know… According to Mr. Reid, there's been a lot of missing people in the area over the months, mostly homeless people and the druggies and the like, so he’s used to weird stuff... but he said the kid doesn't look right, and I’ve only been working for a few weeks, but I agree, it don’t look right. Kids playing dress up and won’t talk to us. Honestly, it’s easier to see than explain.”

Maggie’s mouth thins into a small line at the men's causal negative implications, but doesn't say anything. There were times and places to pick battles like that, and now wasn’t one of them.

“Mr. Reid? Is that your boss?”

Davidson asks, and the detective hears the drop in congeniality in his tone, knowing he recognized Connor's tone too.

“Yeah, he’s still with the kid.” Connor nods as they delve deeper inwards, before slowing to a stop next to the back of a lone blue shipping container. “Just around the corner, here, maybe you can make something of it.”

And that’s all the permission either one of them need.

The first person the detective recognizes as they round the corner is a man that’s likely Mr. Reid, the pressed white and blue of his security uniform sticking out stark against the wood of the port and thick, greying hair, dulled slightly from the lack of lighting, tucks deep into a fraying security guard cap. His back is facing them and he’s knelt down in an impressive squat, balancing his flashlight in one hand as he perches himself just outside the entrance of the metal container, whispering slowly, softly in a stream of words that the detective doesn’t quite recognize until they get closer, but he stiffens and turns to nod at them, face splitting into a cautious smile as he turns back to whoever’s he’s talking to.

“See? What did I tell you, huh? Told you we would get some more friends to come. Scout’s honor.”

Reid’s rumbling baritone exudes chakily, like he’s smoked more than his fair share cigars in his life, as he moves his hand up to his brow to mimic that saluting movement, and the way he’s speaking so soft and carefully gentle, it’s like he’s a grandfather talking to his grandkid.

And as the trio slows to a stop at the container, Maggie realizes that Connor may be right after all, and she may have to reevaluate this situation.

It’s a girl, that much Maggie can confirm, making out the shadowy delicately boned features of a very young kid standing in the dark against one of the large wooden crates in the shipping container, the hard line of her jaw and shape of her mouth, all rendered in miniature and softened by youth, and her owlish eyes seem almost too big for her face. Like she hasn’t grown into her features yet.

So six, maybe seven years old, if she were to put a number to it.

And there is something off about her, something the detective can’t quite place, but the thought is pushed to the back of her mind because although it is very worrisome that there is a six year old in a shipping container, alone in the dark, it is not as nearly as disconcerting as what she’s wearing.

Dress up.

The poor kid is practically swimming in an adult version of Supergirl's uniform. It sags around her small shoulders and trembling, thin fingers peek out from beneath bunched dark blue fabric, digging up into the collar of her outfit as she grips a small pulsing object and holds it to her chest, red boots rising up to her thighs like waders, and the billowing cape dwarfing her as it gathers on the floor in twisted folds.

It’s a rather realistic replica of the one the detective’s seen so many times in person, but the fact that this kid is wearing it really only offers more questions than answers.

The kid’s eyes flit away from the older security guard, wide, fearful and oddly glazed, glittering in the dark and those eyes, and their pale, striking blue holds a familiarity she can’t quite place.

“Hey there! My name is Oscar and this here is Maggie!”

Davidson whispers, annoyance at Connor dissipating, as his whole demeanor changes into something gentle and reassuring and awfully careful as he sinks into a crouching position on his knees. Next to him, Maggie does the same, angling herself purposely so there’s still a viable exit because four officers blocking the only entrance isn’t exactly a look she’s trying to go for.

“Hey, kiddo.”

The detective echoes, giving half a wave, that she watches the kid track and there’s a war of emotions the detective can’t quite place, fighting in the diminutive blonde’s eyes, sentiment after sentiment sledging over each other.

Maggie’s not used to seeing that kind of inner conflict from someone so young.

Next to her, Reid’s knees groan when he stands up, using the edge of the container door to straighten himself, and the detective notices small fist-like indentations in the metal door, like someone had pulled at the edges trying to open it.

“Uh… Found the kid, on the last round of patrol, hiding in the container here. One of the shipyard men must have left it open, or something, these things don’t open up easily on their own. She talks sometimes, but I uh… just don’t know what she’s saying. Probably one of those alien migrants.” Reid whispers under his breath, scratching his jaw. “Sent Connor out to greet y’all because he was making her nervous, but hell… I’m probably making her nervous too, but figured I shouldn’t let her out of sight until you cops came.”

Maggie nods and the kid’s eyes are flitting between the four of them anxiously, like she can’t quite decide who’s the most dangerous and something is wrong here, more than just the obvious problem.

“Got any camera footage?”

The older man nods, recognizing the diversion to get less people crowding up the space.

“I’ll go get it for ya. C’mon Connor.” He says and then to the kid, “Sorry about that kiddo, gotta handle some adult stuff, but my friends here are going to help you out.”

Nothing.

She doesn’t even blink, brows contorting into a crinkly line, as owlish glazed eyes still search their faces, and the detective stifles another wave of her familiarity as she averts her gaze towards the pulsing object in the kid’s hand.

What is that?

Reid shrugs helplessly and disappears with Connor back to wherever the cameras are.

“Hey, kid, we’re going to ask you a few questions okay? You’re not in trouble, we just wanna make sure you’re safe.”

Maggie murmurs gently, and she’s not really uncomfortable with talking with kids, instead more awkward, but she pushes that feeling aside, searching the young girl’s face for some inkling of understanding,

Nothing again, as the kid’s eyes dart over her shoulder, presumably to the retreating security guards, then back to them, tiny knuckles flexing as her chin quivers, and in the brief new angle, Maggie could see delicate looking blemishes on her throat, the skin there discolored in splotches of navy, to uniform to be anything but the red flag she’s registering as.

Something dark flutters within her.

What was it with people and kids?

“Let’s start easy, okay? Can you tell my friend, Oscar and I, your name?”

She tries again, but the words come out chalky and strained, next to her Davidson shifts again, moving ever so slightly to hide his gun from view, and this time that redhead can’t pacify his expression that contorts into one of concern as silence reigns on when the girl doesn’t answer.

“You gotta cool toy there, huh?” Davidson muses, rerouting as he balances his elbows on his knees. “Does it have a name?”

The wispy blonde’s unblinking gaze flits back toward the redhead, still frozen, and for a moment Maggie doesn’t think she’ll answer, a glimmer of uncertainty and tepid confusion skirting across her youthful features, as she looks down at the object half hidden in the blue fabric. A long moment passes as she stares at the object, the pulsing brightness of it casting shadows across her pale face, then she blinks again, looking back up at them and shakes her head, slowly and exaggeratedly, like she's teaching them the movement.

So she does understand them.

At least that was something.

“Aww… really? How about we give it a name, huh? So everyone can have a name?”

Davidson continues easily, like they’re talking about the weather, but the blonde’s eyes are on the detective again dubiously, unwavering but unsure, and Maggie almost wonders how he’s so good at this before remembering he’s the oldest of six.

“How about Glowly? That sounds good, right Maggie?”

The detective agrees, trying not to feel off put by the kid’s unwavering gaze.

Another slow blink.

Another long moment.

Then a slow exaggerated head nod.

“Okay, so we have Oscar,” he says, pointing to himself, “and Maggie… and Glowly…. But we still don’t have yours? Want to make it nice and even?”

Silence.

The detective half expects another nod to Davidson’s kind of rhetorical question, despite what Reid had said, so it takes the detective by surprise than the kid speaks, whispering something unintelligible into the collar of her shirt.

“Huh?”

The girl shifts nervously, chin trembling, as she works to keep unshed tears at bay, little hands bunching together tighter against the fabric of her shirt, knuckles going white, as she tries again.

“Kara.”

The kid whispers, soft and high, almost fairy-like as the sharply accented word almost dissipates into the air before it can reach them.

Maggie pauses.

Blinking once.

Twice.

She’s only heard that pronounced that way before with one person.

“Kara, huh? That’s a pretty name.”

The detective soothes, eyes moving back to the super suit replica, small details stitching themselves together, and she’d never seen anything quite that realistic, not even at the cosplay conventions Winn always tried to drag them too before he went off world.

And she thinks again back to the uncomfortable familiarity of the small blonde’s gaze.

Of the way the blonde’s brow had crinkled.

“Kara, do you have a last name?”

Maggie asks lightly, trying to keep the conversation light, as she asks a question she thinks she might already know the answer too.

The little blonde blinks uncomprehendingly and the detective thinks back to a conversation she’d had with the Danvers sisters months ago, about how Kara had referred to their home in Midvale as the House of Danvers for the longest time, before correcting herself.

“A house name?”

The blonde’s eyes glaze over, flitting back to the stone in her hands, then to Davidson, then back to her.

“Zor-el.”

She whispers, strained and wobbly, like she’s holding back tears.

And fuck, even with everything they’ve faced over the years, the detective’s mind still won’t let her believe what she’s looking at, even though now that the blonde’s name is out there, Maggie knows without having to be told.

There is no mistaking those piercing, azure eyes, no matter how young the face is around them.

And holy cow.

There are pictures of Kara when she was younger in Alex’s apartment, in Kara’s loft, at Eliza’s in the few times she’d been down in Midville, but they’d all been from later years, but none from when she was a little kid because of the circumstances and now.... Holy cow.

“Well, Kara Zor-el. It’s nice to meet you. “

The kid- Kara? says nothing, blinking silently, chin quivering again, and they were her eyes, but there is a war of emotion raging in them, confusion and fear and anxiety, tied together by a flicker of recognition that fights with itself because still she says nothing.

Maggie flips rapidly through her mental rolodex of alien species she’d encountered over the years and ancient artifacts that she’d had to learn for the police qualifying exam, frozen, unsure how to proceed, and can’t think of a single thing that would have caused this, but gets the feeling it might have something to do with what she’s holding in her hand.

Holy Cow.

Next to her, Davidson hasn’t caught on, and nor does she expect him too, he still thinks Supergirl and Kara are two separate entities.

“Cool… cool… You got yourself into a jam, huh, Kara?”

He says, leaning forward a little, and little Kara’s eyes crease again with uncertainty, mouth opening and closing again without a single word coming out, as she shifts nervously back against the crates that grate harshly with the sudden movement, the strength of the larger Supergirl marking those movements.

Davidson rocks back on his heels a little, surprised, holding his hands up and out, glancing at the detective confused.

“Davidson?”

Maggie whispers, not taking her eyes off the trembling girl in front of her.

“Yeah?”

He answers under his breath.

“Do me favour okay, and call Alex?”

Davidson pauses and she can feel the question before he asks it.

“Instead of the ADSS?

Not objecting to what she’s asked, but looking for clarification.

ADDS stood for the Alien Department of Social Services and it’s usually where missing, lost, or abandoned aliens went until someone could work out a better situation with him.

Maggie shakes her head.

“No… I… I think this is a Supergirl problem.”

…

The small blonde hasn’t looked away from her since David had excused himself, translucent eyes reflecting the pulsating glow of the object as she works her tiny jaw back and forth, back and forth, grinding her teeth together and Maggie can hear the wood splintering as she presses back against it. For the briefest of moments the detective thinks that maybe she should have made the call, but she shoves that thought down deep with the stagnant seawater and rotting seaweed because this is Kara.

She knows Kara, theoretically. Sees her at the very least every other day or so. And this is Kara, even if it’s the miniaturized version of her that’s scared and confused and… injured and doesn’t seem to recognize her at all.

A lot of the police protocol is flying out the window as the seconds tick by, but Maggie knows Kara and knows that whatever happens next, it can’t be done in complete silence.

She knows what it’s like to be young and scared and alone, and that isn’t a feeling she’d wish on any kid, no matter the circumstance.

“Hey, Kara, you’ve been standing there for a while, haven’t you? We can sit down if you want, while we wait for more of our… friends.”

The detective urges more than asks, unsure of what descriptor to give Alex and others, then gets the feeling it doesn’t matter because the little Danvers says nothing, and it bothers Maggie how wet Kara’s eyes are, how she seems to be about two seconds from crying at every given moment.

“Well, I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are super tired.”

She continues, purposely nonchalant as she presses her palms against oak wood and maneuvers herself into a cross-legged position, slowly and carefully as the blonde tracks her every movement like a hawk.

They settle in awkward silence for another long moment, Maggie unsure what to say, not wanting to upset Kara further when she was like this, but needing to know what was going on here. There were too many unanswered questions.

But somehow the tiny blonde finds her voice first.

“I’m not supposed tah… tah.. talk to the Guard.”

Kara whispers at last, strained voice softer and a little higher than her smoother, confident adult voice, now that Maggie has something to compare it to, and the old, harsh accent that she couldn’t pinpoint earlier was likely Kryptonian.

She’d never heard Kara speak it before.

“The Guard?”

Maggie echoes, but the blonde doesn’t answer.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not the Guard, okay? I’m a detective. I help people. People like you.”

Silence. The prominent dubiousness is painfully evident in the unyielding stare.

Kara doesn’t trust her, and though it isn’t exactly a new revelation, it still hurts a little.

“Here, you can look at this.” the detective continues, palming at her belt, detaching her badge from the catch mechanism there . “It’s my badge. Only detective’s have this kind. Wanna see?”

Hesitance marks every bit of the kid as she continues to work her jaw back and forth, back and forth, eyes swirling with trepidation as she fights herself, but eventually… slowly, she nods.

So the detective slides it over, wincing at the blonde’s stiffening flinch as the badge scrapes harsly against the metal of the shipping container.

It’s somewhat of a spectacle as the material of those red boots crease around the middle when Kara squats to scoop it up, and for a moment, Maggie thinks it might get her to let go of the pulsating object she’s holding onto so tightly, but it’s to no avail. Instead, she only redistributes it to her other hand and the badge is large and clunky in the miniature Danvers’s grip as she picks it up, scrutinizing it.

And in the silence, Maggie can hear Davidson speaking slowly and quickly into the receiver of his phone in the background.

“Detective.”

The blonde echoes shakily, more to herself, then to Maggie, and the word sounds unnatural in her mouth, as she tries it out, like it isn’t a word she’s used to saying.

“That’s right. I’m a detective. And I just want to help you okay? Can you let me help with that?”

Kara sniffs, those carefully restrained tears brimming at the edge now as she curls into herself and the detective recognizes that fear response. She’d seen it months ago in the bank vault, with Psy.

“Hey… Hey… It’s okay. You’re okay. I… I know you’re scared, but being scared is alright. Because fear… is like a… a superpower, didn’t anyone ever tell you? It can make you faster, and stronger, and cleverer, and brave. And you’re being very brave right now. So it’s okay to tell me what’s wrong.”

Maggie soothes as the blonde wavers and whatever fight Kara’s having with herself must finally relinquish itself because the words start coming out easier now.

“I don’t… I don’t feel so good.”

Kara whispers finally, strained and heavy, but it is the fear in her words that pulls Maggie’s heart somewhere below her knees.

“You don’t feel so good? Can you explain it a little?”

The detective asks gently, eyes darting between the rock thing, where those bruises hide, and the fact that her soon to be sister-in-law is very much a child, because honestly the problem is it could be a multitude of things and maybe if she’s lucky it can be something she could fix.

Kara’s glazed sea-green eyes flit over her, chin trembling again, as she works to keep her tears at bay.

“I… I… I… I dunno. I just… don’t f-feel good. This... I’m n-not… I… I... I don’t know… I feel bad...”

Kara mumbles, breath hitching over half an explanation that really offers nothing at all as she moves up a hand to swipe away at her unshed tears, but it’s a lost battle from the start between the detective’s clunky badge and all that fabric trapping her arms and it only serves to upset her more because the wooden crates behind her are grating again.

“L-like floaty… ligga bubble, but it doesn’t uh… f-feel good, like it hurts and I don’t wanna fly. I wanna stay h-here. I… I don’t wanna f-feel bad...”

The blonde sputters miserably, breath coming fast now, in agonized pants as she tries to get all the words out, and though Maggie doesn’t really understand what Kara means by that, the helpless despair alludes to enough to reach her own conclusions.

“Look at me… Look at me, Kara. Look at me. Don’t worry, I’m not going to let you float away. I promise. I’m going to come closer, okay?”

The detective doesn’t think that Kara will run, she hasn’t run yet, despite clearly having at least some of her powers on hand, and her suspicions are confirmed when the blonde nods, instead of shying away.

When the detective inches forward the air around her crackles strangely.

It’s not something she sees really, rather feels, as the hackles rise at the back of her neck, but just as Maggie registers the odd sensation it dissipates, and when she finally is close enough to be in reaching distance of Kara, the billowing heat that emanates from the small blonde quickly over takes over any inclination toward the previous thought.

Closer up, the trembling blonde barely stands a few inches over the crouching detective, the blue orb in her fist pulsing menacingly and for a moment Maggie feels drawn to it like a fly to light, but she forces herself to look past it and focus on the darkened bruises half-hidden by a halo of honey blonde hair. 

“So, how did you get Glowly?”

She asks, examining them as discreetly as she can, they look uniform in shape and pattern, but old, like two or three days old, and it doesn’t seem like it bothers her.

Although, she can’t remember the last time Kara’s bruised before, so maybe the biology accounted for it.

“I found it…”

Kara hiccups tearfully, watching the detective watch her, her small hands twisting back into the overlaid fabric, almost hiding her badge from view.

“You found it? Did anyone try to stop you from finding it?”

The tiny blonde’s shoulders lift in a slight shrug, squirming a bit, as she readjusts herself again and that heavy, carbon-fiber supersuit must be very uncomfortable, but there is nothing she can do about that now.

“Yeah? Do you remember what happened before you found Glowly?”

She tries again and Maggie waits, swallowing back another wave of lightheadedness as Kara’s brow furrows.

“...No.”

Kara finally says, voice flat; suddenly lifeless, and she stops looking at the detective, at her, at anything as the orb pulses again.

“Yeah? That’s okay. How about this. Let’s see what happens if we put Glowly down.”

Maggie attempts, but Kara’s face crumbles as she shakes her head.

“It h-hurts when I put it down.”

She whimpers and those tears she’d been holding in for so long, finally spill over, shoulder hitching with silent gasping breaths as salt trails its way down, and the detective feels a fierce surge of protectiveness grip her, wanting to do anything to make it stop, but honestly she understands.

It’s scary.

Pain is scary.

“Okay, okay. When our friends get here, they’ll help us figure it out.” 

Maggie assures dropping the subject quickly, and Alex would probably kill her if she knew how much blind faith she was instilling in her at the current moment, but Kara’s tears don’t falter. 

“I… I-I don’t wanna float away…”

The small blonde hiccups and Maggie heart skips too many beats as she searches for a way to calm her. 

“Hey, remember what I said right? I’m not going to let you float away, the badge you’re holding, it’s like an anchor. As long as you’re holding it, no matter how hard, it won’t let you float away.”

The badge Kara’s been holding onto so gently before crumples like tin foil.

Maggie finds that she doesn’t even care.

…. …. … ….

“I guess I can cross Benjamin Button Syndrome off my bucket list.”

Lucy is the first to break the silence, crouching on her knees in standard DEO combat attire in front of the open shipping container, carefully manicured eyebrows raised as they alternate between the detective and miniaturized Kara.

And it must be a sight to behold.

Crying had petered Kara out a little as she leans against the crates, half-lidded, bloodshot eyes staring at the remnants of Maggie’s NCPD badge, legs splayed out in front of her like a rag doll, after the detective had managed to cajole her into sitting position, and the detective can feel herself sweating as she sits cross-legged next to the living Kryptonian heater in this hulking metal container that’s really only gotten hotter since the sun decided to rear its ugly head over the horizon.

The burgeoning headache that has begun to take residence in the back of her head meshes oddly with the lightheaded feeling that fades in and out, and it would be a miracle if she got out of here without succumbing to heatstroke.

Jesus Christ.

Next to Lucy, Alex is crouched in the same position, curly brown hair tucked back behind her ears, her expression a flurry of emotion; of concern, of doubt, of relief, of confusion, features contorted just like her sister’s and briefly Maggie ponders how similar the sisters could be at times, even when there was no blood relation.

“This is fascinating.”

Brainy comments in only a way he can, cocking his head to decide as he observes them like it’s a science experiment, and Maggie likes him, she really does, but she really just wants this over.

She hears J’onn too, out there past the periphery of the shipping container, along with a female voice she thinks is Vasquez, both speaking with Davidson, and good, the more hands on this the better.

“Mags... you feeling okay?”

Alex asks what has to be the easier question, hesitant and unsure as she ignores Lucy’s quip and Brainy’s awe.

“Yeah.” Maggie says slowly, “ I’m good. Thirsty, but good.”

Her girlfriend smiles softly, but there’s something nervous about it as she averts her eyes to her sister, then back to Lucy and Brainy.

“Do we know what it is?”

She asks, leaning forward a little, like she wants to move closer to them, but Brainy reaches out suddenly, stopping Alex from moving any closer.

“It’s a Mogwai, native to the Glasgowin realm. They’re carnivorous, sapient beings that feed off neural energy and use age regression as a means to capture their prey due to their diminutive size. It would not be wise to approach, tell me Detective Sawyer, you haven’t touched it have you?”

Brainy accounts like he’s reciting from an encyclopedia, and his dark eyes are unwavering on her own as he waits expectantly for an answer.

The detective shakes her head.

“I… I think you have to be touching it for it to do anything.”

She murmurs.

The three faces look at her with varying degrees of disbelief.

“Yeah… Maggie, I don’t think so. You need to look in a mirror.”

Lucy says at last, still staring, and Maggie feels a sudden stab of patronizing fear as she looks down to her hands, half expecting them to be replaced with the hands of a toddler, but they were still her hands, well they still looked like her hands. But on closer examination she realizes the faded scar that sliced it’s way from the third left knuckle to the base of her pinky finger after a Gotham patrol gone bad three years ago, is gone.

Holy fuck.

“No, Detective Sawyer is correct, the effects are more severe with contact. It’s why it’s so dangerous for species with relatively low lifespans. If the detective had made physical contact, she’d likely be deceased.”

Maggie winces at the morbidness of his casual statement, thinking back to those missing people Connor had spoken about so nonchalantly, this thing must have been around for years, decades even, and next to her she feels Kara wriggle back into being a bit, eyes fluttering nervously between all the perceived new faces.

“But… but Kara’s just a kid, she’s younger than I am.”

Maggie says, not sure why she’s protesting, but it doesn’t make sense.

“No, Kara’s seventy four.” Alex corrects, then recognizing the question marks in Maggie’s shock, continues, “It’s a long story.”

The _I’ll explain later_ unspoken in her words.

Okay…

Okay…

“Well, what do we do? She says it hurts when she lets go of it.”

Alex’s eyes are on Kara again, something undecipherable in her eyes, not pity, not concern, but something akin to sorrow.

“I’ll shut down the cerebrum, only temporarily, a stop gap of consciousness of sorts and allow me to retrieve the foreign body without disrupting any other neural pathways as age is not a negotiable perogative with my genetic composition, but will allow for easier transport and decreased pain stimuli for those involved.”

Brainy says in a single breath.

Maggie blinks.

“What he’s trying to say is, he’s going to sedate you guys, take the Mogwai from Kara because he’s thousands of years old and it won’t affect him, and we’ll figure out the long term ramifications of this thing when we take you all to the DEO. ”

Lucy translates, stealing another glance at the miniaturized version of her friend.

“Sounds good?”

Alex asks and the detective nods again.

The taller brunette looks at Kara, but the blonde is hiding again, tucking herself into the collar of her uniform.

Maggie shrugs, and Brainy takes it as permission, stepping into the crate.

He makes quick purposeful strides over to the duo and before Kara can even shrink away, he has his cool palms up against each of their foreheads.

And everything kind of fades to black.

… ...

Bright yellowish white floods her vision.

It takes a moment to compensate, adjusting her sight around the light and towards the darkened objects at the edges of her vision.

Both women are silent as Alex moves the penlight to her other eye.

The yellow orb of white lingers for a few moments, before the brunette finally moves the small light away.

Leaving the detective to rapidly blink the confines and colors of the DEO laboratory back into coherency.

“See? Perfect picture of health.”

She says dryly, hoarsely, and it’s true, whatever effects the Mogwai had had on her, while present, had been minimal. And though she didn’t really enjoy the unusual feeling of her body filling itself back out, it didn’t really hurt per say, rather just uncomfortable, as she escaped the growing pains for going through puberty in rapid succession. The only part that really bothered her, per say, was the scar, when it decided to carve its way back into her skin.

“Yeah.”

Alex echoes softly, biting her lip as she sets down the penlight.

“You’re sure, right? No more lightheadedness, no headache, double vision?”

Maggie shakes her head at every symptom Alex spouts out, if anything she just feels restless from sitting down so long.

“I’m good, Danvers, scout’s honor.”

Alex regards her silently for a moment, but finally the tension eases slightly from her shoulders, and she smiles for real this time, satisfied.

“Okay…” the taller brunette sighs, moving her hand to rest on the edge of Maggie’s elbow, and the detective allows herself to lean into her warm touch.

“You know… Lucy’s right, her bucket list for these kinds of things is getting way too long.”

Maggie smiles tiredly.

“You know I was on shift right? Protecting and Serving. And protect and serve I did, and if that adds a few more pages to Lucy’s bucket list then so be it.”

Alex smiles at that, eyes crinkling around the edges like they always did in their genuinity as she moves to sit next to the detective, both women gazing through the glass that separates them from the younger Danvers.

It’s weird and slightly unnerving to see Kara under all of those wires and contraptions, watching her bones lengthen and skin warp and stretch to fit the accommodation as she slowly fills into the DEO sweats Alex had changed her into and Maggie’s grateful for the sedative, because it looks agonizing, and it sounds even worse.

“You know for someone who’s self-proclaimed bad with kids, you were good with her, with Kara I mean. I would have thought she would’ve been flipping out...”

Alex says finally over the sound of cracking bone, when the silence makes everything just a bit too loud.

Maggie’s ears redden and she can feel the heat rushing to her face as she looks away.

“Yeah, well Kara’s a cute kid.” She coughs awkwardly, worming around the praise. “Did you ever find out about the fight?”

Alex sighs again, heavier than last time.

“We got the footage from the guards, there was no fight.”

Oh.

Maggie thinks back to the bruises on the blonde’s neck and opens her mouth to ask the question, but Alex is already answering it.

“Kara’s had a rough go at things, Mags.”

She says simply, suddenly stiff, and her eyes are narrowed, jaw hard, as they reflect against the glass.

“I mean… She’d forgotten everything right? She didn’t recognize you and me, or the fact she wasn’t on Krypton, nothing, it was basically like she was six-years old, in memory and in mind. But, she never ever asked you for her mom or dad, did she?”

Alex continues stiffly, not outright saying what Maggie knows she’s alluding to.

“Oh.”

She says finally, in lue of what else to say, because Kara hadn’t.

Not once.

Not even as scared as she’d been.

“It was hard in the beginning, but she’s fine now, mostly, she likes to pretend it happened decades ago because technically it did.”

Maggie swallows hard, thinking about her own father, how terrifying he had been at times.

“But she idolizes them.”

The detective says dumbly, and it sounds horrible, that it sounds like she’s blaming her, but really she’s not, she’s just confused. Because in the few, albeit rare, times Kara brought up her parents, it tended to be a glowing endorsement.

Though it would explain the uncomfortable looks from Alex and Eliza and even Clark, when he made one of his rare visits.

Alex shrugs.

“I guess when your world blows up you find something good to say about anyone.”

Maggie swallows again

“That have something to do with why she's actually part of the Silver Sneakers club?”

Alex smiles again, softer than before, shaking her head.

“She’s just had a rough go of things.”

And the story continues.

…

Kara, the real, fully adult Kara, opens her eyes, almost ten hours after Brainy had helped put her to sleep.

For a moment, neither of Maggie nor Alex realize what’s happening. Neither of them recognizes what this means. 

She doubts that Kara realizes either, suspended in a half-lidded stupor staring up at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes.

Bloodshot eyes, but they’re open, open, open…

And that means that she’s awake.

They’d been able to move her from the sun room to standard DEO medical bay after she’d finally stopped growing, finally filling out the DEO sweats that Alex had changed her into, and both of them had been basically been sitting vigil until something changed from the deep sleep the monitors said she was drifting in.

Alex stiffens first, voice dry-clicking in disbelief, and then she’s sitting straight, leaning forward.

“Kara…”

Her girlfriend whispers. 

Kara’s brows knit together, eyes jerkily tracking left, then right through dark, bloodshot eyes, not quite focusing on anything, somehow seeing everything and the blonde’s mouth opens, but if only to run her tongue along her teeth, no longer small, because she doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, you’re good, you’re good.”

Alex soothes, suddenly standing, curling one hand around her sister’s, who instinctively returns the grip, the other moving up to sweep some of her blonde hair away from her forehead.

And the detective stands too, hovering back a little, not wanting to interrupt the sincerity of the moment.

“Ouch..”

The youngest Danvers’s whispers at last and the word splinters into the air, slightly off-kilter and muted from the sedative, but deeper and more mature than the one Maggie heard leave the blonde hours earlier.

“Yeah… you’re going to be a little sore for a while.”

Alex says quietly, but it takes long moments for the blonde to really understand what she’s saying, as she sluggishly blinks, using a small fortune of energy to turn away from the ceiling and focus on her sister.

“Alex...”

Kara mumbles, her name coming out slow and heavy, more like a question.

“Yep, it’s me.”

But Kara’s already looking away, sweeping the room, eyes half-lidded, and Maggie can tell she's drifting, and can tell that the sedative is pulling her back under.

“I… I feel... kinda…. M’tired.”

The blonde sighs and the hospital cot creaks a little when she tries to sit up, but she doesn’t get far though, not with Alex using a considerable amount of strength to push her back down.

“Hey… you’re tired because you need to sleep more. So rest a little, okay?”

Alex scolds, but the detective can tell her heart isn’t really in it, that she’s really just glad that her sister is at least somewhat okay.

Kara doesn’t fight her on it, leaning back into the cot, and her empty gaze settles on the detective.

“Hey.. hey… Maggie.”

She slurs and she smiles lazily as her eyes droop further shut.

“Hey, Little Danvers.”

Maggie echoes and the word feels strange, because Kara isn’t so little anymore.

“Thanks,”

Kara whispers softly.

“For not letting me float.”

….

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fic, the hologram thing doesn't exist, Alex isn't cruel.
> 
> Let me know what you thought?


End file.
